


Dark is the Absence of Light

by KatsudonLink



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatsudonLink/pseuds/KatsudonLink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't study the darkness by flooding it with light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark is the Absence of Light

In the morning, you close your eyes because it hurts to open them. Light is your sworn enemy, sun is the devil and sunshine is its disciple. Like no matter what you do the Jehova's Witnesses will knock on your door precisely when you sat for dinner and the steam off of your food is moisturizing your face. Of course you don't have money to buy an actual moisturizer but you make yourself believe it's a commercial sham, a hoax to get your money and you feel a little better about yourself because you're not a cheap old sod or bitch, you're wise and 'embracing your age'. Too much sunshine dries up your skin. Your curtains are cheap too. You laugh because the rich can both afford thick curtains and moisturizers, but you're the one who needs it. You are sun damaged at heart and you believe the only warmness you ever feel in your chest is because of the sun. 

At least you can get a meal hot enough to have steam rising out of it. A few times a week anyways. 

Next time they knock, after you cussed them out the day before, you figure tomorrow you'll set the lawn on fire or mow it in a pentagram. You're not a satanist but you're tempted. You don't even care what the neighbors think if it means peace and quiet. You just want to wander around your house during the day but you need to survive. The office has blinds, whose genius idea was that? The sun shine is on your eyes, not on the bridge of your nose, then at the tip of your nose, then not on your upper lip, then on your bottom lip. It's bullshit. You don't want to see outside because you're afraid instead of playing Solitaire on your shitty work computer you'll fantasize about flying, or jumping off, or something drastic like that. Your chair is uncomfortable too. If you lean back a little too much you'll land on your head and wish for a head trauma, a coma, or a head amputation. A short while after you are decapitated your brain stays conscious. All those people whose head fell into the basket while they saw it happening and heard the cheers. 

When you're at home and it's night, though, light is your favorite thing to exist because without light there isn't dark and the things you can't see with your eyes still somehow have shadows. The distinction between bright and dark is with light's existence. You wait on the corner of the room in complete darkness sometimes so the mood of the room catches up with the inside of your head. You tremble sometimes but no one is there to see. Your sun damaged heart finds life in the dark, you can hear it in your ear sometimes. Or is that the devil playing the drums? Did you trap the sun there? Is this revenge because it hurts and aches sometimes. It gets harder to breathe and your whole body clenches, you're aware of everything touching your body. Your hand finds it's way to your mouth, you bite your nails, it's unconscious. 

Unsettling, isn't it? The dark. Not just dark, but pitch black.

You realize that since light is an added element that this is the actual physical existence of everything. It's dark. The inside of your head is dark, your organs (if you're lucky) will never see the light and that's both depressing and fucked up. You wonder what it would feel like to feel sunshine on your organs. The watery, slimy, throbbing blobs that you're suppose to be so grateful for because that's how you live and make food and piss and all that. You wonder if someone wants to reach out inside and squeeze. 

You wonder how that would feel.

It feels disgusting because you're brain realizes something is wrong when your inner side is exposed. If your shit smelled good, you'd eat it like a dog.

Maybe you can have a piece of your colon to make into a prophylactic. There's almost definitely a fetish like that out there. You're mostly sure. Would you wrap that around your cock?

You dig your fingers on your shin to feel the bones. Everyone looks the same without skin. Your muscles are in strands. You can probably pull them one by one- oh what sweet torture! Of course if you get enough layers of skin out of the way to see muscle you may pass out from the burning. Blood will run down your body. If they cut meet horizontally would you have been able to strand your steak?

At what point does muscle become meat?

What if instead of the pentagram you write with your colon I AM NOT INTERESTED. Slob of it lying on the grass, the smell alone would give you peace for a while. It'll rot and you'll have new friends. Maggots. The man with no colon and his maggot friends. Guest appearance: Flies ( _or maggots that are grown enough_ ). But flies are noisy and they can fly. You won't want them around. They aren't peaceful and quiet like maggots. Seems like the only things you need these days. 

Your hands end up in your mouth again, this time you taste blood but you don't know where it came from. Not from your nails because they don't burn. You find that that is the beauty of the dark. No questions. Nothing to see. Your senses take you over -minus your sense of sight. 

You think you hear a knock on the door but you're not sure. Either way you're not getting up because the devil rises in a few hours and you're not a satanist but you're tempted. It's better to burn out than fade away. 

How long would you have to lie under the sun until you burst into flames. The answer: You'll die of starvations or dehydration first. You were never going to burst into flames anyways, no, just lying under the sun wouldn't do that.

You think of those kids in africa. No, they don't burst into flames but they char. They are char people. 

You're white as puss, white as a fungal infection.

You're so negative, boo for you.  

You wiggle your toes and then you stop because you feel something. 

It smells metallic and your hands are wet, your shirt is soaked but is it sweat or blood, or is it both? Then you notice you're trembling.

You open your mouth but the sounds it makes doesn't make the shape of a word in English- but maybe a lost language of a tribe of char people. 

When you wake up, there's blood under your nails but it's dried up. You can bin your ripped shirt, get stitches for your shin and clean the blood under your bitten nails but you can never bin your thoughts, stitch your brain to the floor of your head so it stops moving or clean the dried up, crusty blood that's lodged inside and around the pink curves. Your brain will never see sunlight.

If you're unlucky. 

 

 

 


End file.
